


Blessed with a Curse

by Moonlit_Lilacs



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Angst, Dark Magic, Denial, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Fluff, Jealous Connor, Jealous RK900, M/M, Manipulation, Mental Anguish, Mind Games, Pining, Possessive Behavior, Protectiveness, Rivalry, Slow Burn, Teasing, Torture, Unhealthy Obsession, fixation at first sight
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2018-08-30
Packaged: 2019-07-02 21:03:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15804528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonlit_Lilacs/pseuds/Moonlit_Lilacs
Summary: Starting his fifth year at Hogwarts, Connor had no reason to believe that the new semester would bring any pace-changing events; but upon the arrival of a mysterious transfer student who bears an unnerving resemblance to him, he suddenly finds himself caught in a web of relentless rivalry, secrecy, and deceit. Will the sinister intrigue of the Slytherin succeed at ensnaring him?





	1. Chapter 1

The Hogwarts bell sounded in a resonant toll, announcing the dawn of the first of September. Sporadic activity could be heard from outside the dormitories as various staff members made haste in preparation for the arrival of students, some returning after the summer vacation, and some stepping into the grand halls of the prestigious school for the very first time.

Connor had already been awake when the bell rang, lying on his bed and deeply absorbed in thought, with his eyes fixed on nothing in particular. He was one of the few students who stayed in Hogwarts even after the conclusion of the semester.

Being an orphan with no relatives to stay with, the ancient stoned walls offered a haven for the Ravenclaw, who often entertained himself by exploring hidden passageways and uncharted territories, taking bliss in the thought that only he knew of the skillfully carved underground concavities and chambers, as though he held a secret line of communication with the great founders of the school.

At least, secret to all students but him. Connor sighed in mild frustration. His colleagues were, for all intents and purposes, boring. Perhaps not conventionally boring—there were those who possessed great talents in different areas; Markus, for example was an exemplary quidditch player, and Ralph had it in him to become one of the most apt herbologists in recent history, but none of that greatly interested Connor.

 _Intellect. Shrewdness._ Wordplay and chess-like maneuvers to engage his restless mind; keep him guessing, analyzing, scouring the recesses of his memory for clues to make sense of cryptic messages. That was what he found interesting. Unfortunately, it was also almost impossible to find.

Waking up that day, he had no reason to think that this new semester would bring any pace-changing events. While he dressed, he contemplated the possible scenarios the day would bring with disinterest, finishing up by straightening his tie and taking his trademark coin between dexterous fingers.

He exited the Ravenclaw tower and walked leisurely to the great hall, absentmindedly dodging students who stopped at random points to greet their friends. The sound of incoherent chatter was the first thing that greeted him upon opening the embroidered gates, and soon enough, the delicious smell of foods of all kinds wafted through the air to invade his nostrils. Connor scanned the expansive room, searching for a familiar pair of mismatched eyes and grinning once he found them.

Markus was seated on the Gryffindor table, animatedly conversing with Josh and North, but when he locked eyes with Connor, he stood at once and moved to embrace his friend.

“Connor!” he exclaimed, a grin stretching his lips as he gave him a pat on the back. “How are you, buddy? Did you have a nice vacation?”

The two sat across from each other, with Markus leaning in to compensate for the lack of quietude and booming background noise.

“I did, actually,” said Connor. The tone of his voice hinted at the many recollections and tableaux transpiring behind keen eyes.

Markus snorted. “Let me guess. You spent your days with your nose stuffed in books.”

“Hardly only that.” He glanced sideways in a discreet motion before he himself leaned in. “I’ve been working with Professor Anderson on some new potions.”

This warranted an amused eye roll from the Gryffindor. “Stacking up points to guarantee a Head Boy position even post-semester, huh?”

Connor shook his head. “I don’t need to do that, I already have the position guaranteed. No, what we’re doing is something entirely novel.” Here, he lowered his voice. “You know how some wizards have the ability to resist Legilimency?”

Markus furrowed his brow, puzzled by the intent behind the question. “You mean the Occlumens?”

“Lower your voice!” came a hushed interruption.

“Sorry,” he said in a humored whisper. “Why are you and Professor Anderson interested in mind reading?” His friend’s visage remained serious, and Markus knew this was no laughing matter to him, and so he met him accordingly, training his face into earnestness.

“Legilimency is the most effective technique used during interrogation when the suspect is unyielding,” Connor explained. “But increasingly, the suspects seem to be acquiring the opposing technique—Occlumency. They can shield their minds against the invasion.”

The glint in Connor’s eyes seemed to become more brilliant, then. “Well, Professor Anderson and I have been experimenting with potions, trying to come up with a concoction that would weaken the mental barrier raised by the Occlumens. And I think we’re close to succeeding.”

Markus scanned Connor with narrowed eyes, searching for a cause for his building suspicion in unassuming browns. “Why do I feel like there’s something you’re not telling me?” he said.

Connor hesitated before answering. “You see… it’s not an entirely risk-free endeavor.”

 _Ah, that_. Markus smirked. “You’ve been snooping around in the restricted section of the library, haven’t you? Never knew you’d be willing to dabble in the dark arts.”

He received another warning look from the Ravenclaw, and he raised both hands in apology, though the amusement failed to leave his face.

“Not just the restricted section…” he said in an impossibly quiet mumble. “I have a theory that Acromantula silk could induce a transient mental shock in humans, which made it seem like it would be a powerful component—”

“You went to the Forbidden Forest?” exclaimed Markus suddenly. “ _To the Acromantula colony_?”

“ _Markus_!” hissed Connor, grabbing his friend’s arm and pulling him down before he exposed him fully. Already there were curious gazes attaching themselves to the pair.

“I just never thought you had it in you to be so… reckless.” Really, Markus was impressed more than anything else.

Connor didn’t feel at ease with the label, and he fidgeted in distaste. “It’s not mindless recklessness, it’s…” he paused, searching for the right way to articulate it, “for the sake of advancing investigational methods.” He seemed proud at the idea, a ghost of a smile transpiring on his visage.

“Why do I feel like it’s more to satisfy your insatiable curiosity?” Markus said that only to receive that sulky look from his friend. “Nah, I’m just kidding.” With a sincere expression, he said, “I’m sure you’ll make a great auror one day, buddy.”

A swell of delight warmed Connor’s chest, his dream seeming to brush against the tips of extended fingers. “Thanks, Markus.” He eased his posture, leaning back. “Now enough about me. How was your vacation?”

“Surprisingly tame compared to yours,” he said lightly. “But nowhere near dull! Simon and his folks took me with them on their trip to India—we saw Occamies hatching from their eggs! We weren’t allowed to get too close, though; there’s always the suspicion that tourists might steal the eggshells.”

“They’re worth quite a bit, right?”

Markus hummed in confirmation, a hand searching his satchel to produce a sketchbook. “Yeah, they’re made of pure silver. Anyway, I did draw what I saw.” He flipped through the pages until reaching the intended one and offering it for Connor to see. “It’s not as magical as seeing it firsthand, of course, but still…”

But what was depicted on the parchment was indeed magical. The serpentine creature, drawn in meticulous detail, emerged from a cracking egg, revealing a beautiful turquoise form that melded with violet wings. The head turned inquisitively to the world around it, and the background gradually gave way for lighter colors to transpire.

“Wow…” sounded Connor almost involuntarily. “That’s beautiful, Markus!”

A crooked grin made its way to his lips. “It was Simon’s idea—you know, the world becoming brighter upon receiving this beautiful creature. I like it.”

Connor turned to look at the Hufflepuff table, searching for the blond boy among the many students. Markus caught this and called out to Simon, causing him to whip his head in their direction with a questioning look on his face. The two waved at him, and he returned the gesture with a warm smile.

Then came an unpleasant interruption.

“Well, well, well,” said Gavin as he invited himself to take a seat next to Connor. “Fancy seeing a Craven-claw on the table of the dauntless dunces.” He leaned closer to him, uncomfortably invading his space. “Got lost on your way, dipshit? Or have you contracted some of their stupidity?”

Connor’s face remained impassive, but the glimmer in his eyes suggested that he was more entertained than vexed. The Slytherin did seem awfully proud of his wordplay.

“Alright now, Gavin—” began Markus, but his friend raised a pacifying hand.

“It’s alright, Markus,” he said, looking into his adversary's eyes. “Gavin is right. I do feel a peculiar decline in my IQ—only it happens whenever I’m within six feet away from him. I’d say I have a theory, but I’m far too dumb to state it now.”

Gavin gritted his teeth and latched onto the collar of the still-impassive Connor. “Listen here, you mudblood! You don’t talk like that about your superiors, or the consequences won’t be to your liking. Got it, asshole?” He yanked him one last time before Markus gripped him and forced him away.

“None of that!” exclaimed Markus. “Don’t say that word ever again, Gavin! We’re all equal here!”

“Bullshit and you know it!” he spat, struggling against him. “But then again you’re a half-blood yourself. What would you know?”

Connor straightened his tie silently as he listened to the exchange. When it became obvious that the two were ready to quarrel, he said calmly, “He truly isn’t worth it, Markus. Let him go.”

His friend complied, but only reluctantly, stepping back to fix his robes. He himself didn’t wish to start a fight. “An injustice ignored is an injustice approved…” he muttered through clenched teeth.

“I gotta say,” came a feminine voice. The three turned to look at North, who had her arms crossed over her chest. “If you wanna go for a revolution, Markus, then Gavin is definitely not the right starting point.”

“Tch—are you a blood-traitor now, North?” Gavin sneered.

She rolled her eyes. “Never been one for fancy titles, but sure, if it’d ease your nerves. Now come on—the sorting ceremony is about to begin.” She commenced to drag her grumbling housemate to their table, but not before mouthing ‘you’re welcome’ to Markus and Connor.

The remaining two stared at the receding forms for a moment before Connor decided it was time he excused himself. “I’ll see you in class,” he said with a small wave.

“Yeah,” said Markus, attempting a smile. When his friend had his back to him, he slumped back on the bench and rested his chin on interlinked fingers, deep in thought.

Connor sat down next to Chloe, who greeted him with a smile. Before he could reply, the doors opened, and a stream of students marched inside in a double line, led by the Deputy Headmistress, Professor Amanda.

At the front were the first years, still fresh and expectant, and at the back stood students who were clearly older. Those were the transfer students, arriving from schools from different parts of the world. They were less inclined to display blatant anticipation, but some of them definitely seemed excited.

“Now,” Professor Amanda announced. “I want you all to remain attentive. When I call your names, you will step forth and sit on this chair. The sorting hat will then decide to which house you belong.” She produced a scroll and held it in front of her, calling out the first name in the list.

The process dragged on for a time indistinct. When a student was sorted into Ravenclaw, Connor clapped politely, but it wasn’t long before he lost grasp on the ongoings around him and began musing, fingers flipping his coin absentmindedly.

But then there came a tug; an invisible force compelling him to turn his attention away from his thoughts and onto the object that burned a hole through his skull with its consuming scrutiny.

His eyes involuntarily heeded the call, and he found himself looking into a pair of icy grays that seemed to pierce their way into his soul with a frigid grip. The coin, suspended momentarily in the air, fell listlessly on the ground.

Connor maintained the eye contact, unable to look away. With unease, he noted that the boy held an uncanny resemblance to him—but at the same time, he was starkly different. The arch of his brow and the shape of his eyes gave him an unmistakable intensity, like a dark aura was suspended around him. That contrast—the familiar against the foreign—only served to heighten Connor’s unease.

As if able to read his thoughts, the boy’s lips twisted upwards. He was _smirking_ at him! Vexed and perturbed, Connor tore his eyes away from him at once, but the announcement made by the sorting hat made him look in his direction once more.

“ _Slytherin_!”

The Slytherins clapped and cheered at the new addition. The boy stood gracefully from the chair and walked with unmatched poise to his house’s table. When he sat down, he cocked an eyebrow at Connor in amused loftiness, and the latter cursed himself when he realized he was staring—fueling that already inflated ego, no doubt.

No matter. He shouldn’t concern himself with a stranger whose name he hadn’t even caught. He had much greater things with which to occupy his mind.

He tried to ignore the fact that the same piercing pair of gray eyes were now staring at _him_.

“Elijah Kamski,” called Professor Amanda, thus concluding the list.

The boy stepped forward and sat before the sorting hat was placed atop his head. He had a nonchalant air about him, as though he already knew where he was going to be placed.

“My, my, such ambitions you have,” voiced the hat in a drawl. “There’s but one house ideally suited for that—Slytherin!”

Elijah’s nonchalance gave way for the most subtle satisfaction to appear momentarily on his visage, and he sauntered his way to the Slytherin table, sitting amongst his cheering housemates.

He and the gray-eyed boy shared a smirk, one that seemed laden with hidden meanings. Connor’s brain was already whirring.

Why was he so interested anyway?

_Focus on the anti-Occlumency potion you’re making. Professor Anderson is going to be so proud when—_

“They’re the same year as us, I think,” mused Chloe. She had noticed where her housemate’s gaze was fixated.

Connor’s mouth opened then clamped. He turned slightly so that the two Slytherins were out of his sight. “Doesn’t really matter,” he said evasively.

_Still he felt that infuriating stare burning his skull._

“I think it does,” she said teasingly.

In a not-so-inconspicuous attempt to dodge the subject, he said, “So you told me in a letter that you were researching Thunderbirds. Did you read anything interesting?”

“It’s okay,” she said serenely. “You don’t have to talk about it.”

He frowned. There was nothing to talk about.

But looking at his perspicacious friend, he knew she would be less inclined to believe that.

“I suppose…” he began, “I’m a bit tired. My brain is going into overdrive.”

“Overthinking stuff?”

“Yeah…” but he wasn’t entirely convinced by his own voice.

Chloe hummed contemplatively. She poured a glass of pumpkin juice and offered it to Connor.

“Drink this, it might help.”

He offered her a smile and took the glass. But his reflection stared back at him and disinclined him to drink. He sighed, one hand supporting his cheek, and the other whirling the liquid in its container.

The image became more and more distorted, until at last, his sight was pulled by the same force to look at the gray-eyed boy. Their eyes met for half a second, while the boy was standing up and moving away from his table.

Connor could feel his heartbeat thudding in his ear as he prepared himself for the encounter, going over the different scenarios of how it would ensue and ensuring a steadfast countenance, except—it never happened. With a confusing disappointment, he watched as the Slytherin turned his back on him and walked out of the great hall.

His legs tingled, and he was already on his feet.

“I’ll be right back,” he said to a bemused Chloe, though his voice came in a distant mumble.

He strode quickly towards the exit, dodging various obstacles in his way. Markus had always said that Connor was morbidly curious, and he was right. Curiosity was the dominant drive for him at that moment. He had to know what was so interesting about that boy.

The clamor died when the doors closed behind him. Only one voice broke the silence, and he recognized it being that of Professor Amanda.

“… make an excellent addition to Hogwarts. I’m certain Slytherin will thrive with you in it.”

“Thank you, Professor Amanda.”

For a while, Connor just stood there, outside the picture but in plain sight. He certainly didn’t expect to see Professor Amanda, the rigid Deputy Headmistress who only spoke with a high-nosed mien, freely lavishing praise onto a newcomer.

The boy stood in composed elegance, politely engaging his interlocutor, but when he caught sight of Connor, the gray eyes shone in a passing glimmer that the latter couldn’t decipher. This alerted the Professor to the new presence, and she turned to greet him with the same imperious regard to which he was well accustomed.

“Connor,” she said. “Come over here and meet our new student.”

Connor approached until he was facing him. The two regarded each other with analytical scrutiny, seeming to pick apart every detail about the other.

“This is Nines. He’s a fifth year like you.” She paused to gauge both of their impassive, yet riveted, expressions. “And dare I say, an apt rival for the Head Boy position. It seems like you will finally have competition.”

This declaration served to harden Connor’s gaze, but thoroughly intrigue Nines. But, to Connor’s rising vexation, there was a mocking edge to his “rival’s” delight, one that served to spark a peculiar desire to prove he was better, unmatched— _the best_.

Nonetheless, Connor extended a hand in hollow decorum, more out of curiosity than anything else. Nines took it, never breaking the eye contact, but instead of shaking it, he maintained a gradually tightening grip, as if to demand the other’s attention and relay a message.

The icy gaze contained him in a suffocating hold, refusing to release him. A shiver ran down Connor’s spine, but his visage remained unaffected, even when Nines’ lips rose in an eerie mimicry of a smile, completely void of true warmth.

“It’s a pleasure to meet my competition,” said Nines.

And that was how it all began.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, one night, my friend and I were imagining a Hogwarts AU where Connor is a ravenclaw and Nines is a slytherin, and little by little, the plot escalated into something that made us go, "huh, if only we could read a fanfic on that!"  
> She suggested that I write it and eventually convinced me (so this story is a collaborative effort, in a sense). Let me say, however, that writing a story whose main characters are certified geniuses while you have an average intelligence is a pain.
> 
> Anyway!  
> Look at this cuteness:
>
>> yer a wizard, Connor [#DetroitBecomeHuman](https://twitter.com/hashtag/DetroitBecomeHuman?src=hash&ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw) [#DetroitBecomeHumanfanart](https://twitter.com/hashtag/DetroitBecomeHumanfanart?src=hash&ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw) [#rk900](https://twitter.com/hashtag/rk900?src=hash&ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw) [#rk800](https://twitter.com/hashtag/rk800?src=hash&ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw) [#ConnorArmy](https://twitter.com/hashtag/ConnorArmy?src=hash&ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw) [#HarryPotter](https://twitter.com/hashtag/HarryPotter?src=hash&ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw) [#gif](https://twitter.com/hashtag/gif?src=hash&ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw) [#animation](https://twitter.com/hashtag/animation?src=hash&ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw) [pic.twitter.com/XYf7szTtFn](https://t.co/XYf7szTtFn)
>> 
>> — Aneta Bielas (@pekaboo0) [August 17, 2018](https://twitter.com/pekaboo0/status/1030497852609445890?ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw)


	2. Chapter 2

It was safe to say that Connor had had a rough night. Ambushed by thoughts and considerations, he found himself reassessing his approach for this semester, abandoning languid nonchalance and adopting attentive wariness. _Competition_? The word gave him a mixed plethora of feelings. On one hand, he yearned for the mental stimulation more than anything, but on the other…

A long exhale exited his nose.

 _Nines_ …

The name, so obscure and unusual, seemed to complement its owner perfectly well. Was it a pseudonym? An alias? Or did he come from a family laden with mysterious intrigue and symbolic fixations?

And why, _why_ was Connor so obsessed with this new student—this _offcomer_ who had hardly done more than look at him with unpleasant intensity and speak a single sentence?

It was a mystery that would gnaw on his insides until it was solved. And Connor always solved his mysteries.

Regardless, one thing was certain. Nines was his competition, his rival—his _equal_? Or… could it be… his _superior_?

The nail of his thumb flipped the coin situated on his index with decided resolution, having it spiral into the air before he caught its spinning form on the tip of a finger. The adrenalin coursing through his veins focused his sight and alerted his senses. There was a certain pique to every deliberate move of his wrist and fingers, as if seeking to prove something to himself with each acceleration of motion and added artfulness of maneuver.

The coin now flew several feet in the air, with its descent coming in slow motion to the well-experienced student, who readied two fingers to catch it mid-flight. But—his eyes widened a fraction and his head spun in frenzy—he found himself tripped and off-balance; catching himself just in time before he fell, and watching helplessly as the coin and his books settled in a jumble on the ground.

“You miscalibrated,” came a smooth voice from behind.

Connor spun at once, incredulous and nonplussed, only to see none other than Nines looking at him inexpressively, twirling his wand between three fingers.

“You _tripped_ me!”

Nines shook his head, a lazy smirk settling on his face after he spoke his correction, “I _challenged_ you.” When he was received with even greater suspicion, he continued, “Your reflexes are quick and you calculate quickly. That much is readily evident. But…” He stepped closer to the Ravenclaw, rounding him as he explained. “You focus too much on your own technique. It’s easy to predict the movement of the coin when it is you controlling it.”

Connor stood rigidly, his visage fixed and unfaltering as his rival’s voice came from behind him, a taunting whisper in his ear. “But what if there was someone else?” said Nines. “How well can you predict an enemy’s movement?”

The Slytherin flicked his wand and the coin ascended quickly. Connor caught it without so much as moving a muscle in his face.

Nines’ lips twisted upwards and he retreated. “I say you practice some more. The thought of contending with you now gives me no thrill.”

His dark robes flowed around him as he walked away from the Ravenclaw, very much aware of how the latter stared after his receding form, feeling the chagrin and indignation Connor emanated with great satisfaction.

Nines continued his descent into the dungeons. The stoned walls of the underground chambers prevented the entry of light, trapping darkness and the murky scent of aged concretion and residual chemicals to give an eerie feel to the premises. Even warmth gradually faded the farther one went, until at last, standing at the door of the Potions Classroom, a chill inevitably surrounded the entrant. A chill that he hardly registered, so accustomed to the cold and the dreary as he was.

Sitting at a table was his dear friend Elijah, his eyes half-lidded as he entertained himself by gradually igniting a leaflet and having a clone arise from its ashes. He always found the concept of a phoenix poetic—perhaps to an excessive extreme, as some have noted.

“Here he is at last,” muttered Elijah, raising only his eyes to look at Nines, a sardonic smile settling on his lips. “I was starting to get lonely.”

This received an eye roll. “You have your thoughts to amuse you—or have you grown boring to even yourself?”

“You’re the harshest critic when it comes to what’s deemed ‘interesting’, Nines.” Elijah’s wand rose slightly, and with it ascended the new leaflet, convulsing in small spasms before bursting in a fiery display, its remains floating as they slowly dropped. “If you still find my company joyful, then I can’t possibly be boring.”

Nines gave a humored exhale, settling down next to his friend. “Fair enough,” he said. He watched the magical ministrations for a while, but his mind was faraway. At length, he spoke. “I met with a student on my way here. I was told he would be my competition, so I was curious to see how he measured up.”

“And your verdict?”

“Disappointing.”

At that moment, two Ravenclaws entered the classroom. They halted their conversation as the male locked eyes with Nines in blatant dismay before wrenching them away and sitting down with his friend in the front.

Nines, on the other hand, didn’t take his eyes off him from the minute of his entry. Elijah witnessed all this with hardly contained amusement.

“But his potential intrigues me,” muttered Nines distantly, his eyes showcasing a discernible glimmer.

The two watched as Connor and Chloe conversed with little care to the Slytherins sitting behind them. When at ease, Connor was markedly different from what Nines had observed him to be. His features relaxed into gentle openness, and his words were playful in their wittiness and polite when relaying information. Even his quietude was unassuming in nature. Nines regarded him with a furrowed brow, fitting this new information in his profile of the Ravenclaw.

“So pure,” remarked Elijah with caustic pleasure, “so innocent. He makes for an adorable pet, Nines.”

But his friend had ceased hearing him for a while now. With half his face hidden behind interlinked fingers, his icy eyes seemed all the more intense in their stare.

“ _Alright_.” The two Slytherin looked to the right in unison to identify the holder of the unfamiliar voice. “I know you two assholes are new here, so I’m gonna lay down some ground rules. First, this is _my table_ you’re sitting at.” He approached them and dropped his books onto the desk. “So you two better get up your asses and find some other place to sit, huh?”

For a moment, Nines and Elijah just stared. The latter could hardly suppress his dark chuckle. “Why Nines, this must be Gavin Reed.”

Gavin squinted his eyes, head turned to the side as he regarded them in suspicion. “You know about me?”

“Of course,” drawled Elijah. “There’s but one person that would be kind enough to acquaint us with… _ground rules_ , as you’ve put it.” He put a hand against his chest and attempted a sympathetic expression. “We wish to be just as kind, however. Nines, wanna do the honors or should I?”

Nines looked at Gavin, lips twisted in a crooked smile that spoke of distaste, before he faced forward again. “He’s all yours.”

Elijah’s grin widened at once, blue-green eyes glinting with malicious intent, and he swished his wand in a quick movement. “ _Vestis Incendo_!”

Suddenly, Gavin’s robes ignited in a blaze. For a second, he could only stand in shock before the realization dawned on him and he started screaming obscenities and running in a useless attempt to escape the flames. The students all turned to look at him in horror, save for the two Slytherins who still sat comfortably at their table.

“Rule number one,” Elijah called out, twirling his wand. His expression lost all humor as it fell in conspicuous darkness. “ _Never_ speak a word in either our directions.”

The door opened, and everyone whipped their heads to look at the Professor who entered in lethargic steps, a testament to a long and sleepless night. He opened his mouth to greet his students, but when he saw the distressed state of the Slytherin, all tokens of exhaustion disappeared from his visage and he quickly produced his wand.

“ _Aqua Eructo_!”

A spout of water emanated from the tip of the wand to drown the fire enveloping the robes, successfully putting an end to the blaze. Gavin spit out the water that entered his mouth, spreading his arms as he assessed his drenched state.

“What the _fuck_?!” he exclaimed, more at the absurdity of the situation than at a specific person.

Professor Anderson heaved a loud sigh, two fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. “Alright.” He raised his head and looked at his peculiarly silent students, daring any of them to lie to him. “Who did this?”

Before Gavin had a chance to answer, Elijah said in a regretful and sincere tone, “It was Gavin himself, Professor. He spoke the _Vestis Incendo_ incantation, while I believe what he meant was _Vestis Integro_.”

Gavin’s mouth hung agape, too stunned to speak.

Professor Anderson ran a hand over his face and said, “Merlin’s beard, Reed, _not again_! I told you, any repairs you wish to make to your clothing should be done outside the class period! And in the name of Merlin, skim a spells book before you cast any!”

“Professor, it was _him_ who did this!” spat Gavin, an incriminating finger pointing at Elijah who in his turn feigned shock. “This guy is a fucking psycho!”

Luckily for Elijah, he didn’t have to defend himself, as the Professor rolled his eyes and groaned. “Reed,” he said in a warning tone. “You’re not gonna evade blame by putting it on the new student. I’ll let it pass this time, but if it happens again, I’ll report you to the Headmaster.”

It took all the culprit’s power to suppress the budding laughter as he watched the drenched Slytherin spit a string of curses under his breath and relocate to another table, _far_ from the two newcomers.

Connor turned to look at them, eyes communicating unadulterated suspicion—suspicion that was misdirected at Nines, who noted it with narrowed eyes. Did the Ravenclaw distrust him this much?

It didn’t really matter…

Did it?

In any case, it caused Nines to roll his eyes.

“Okay, let’s kickstart today’s class before Reed sets fire to any of us,” said the Professor, earning a few chuckles and an especially loud grumble from a specific person. “Does anyone know what we’ll be making today?”

Unsurprisingly, Connor’s hand was the first to shoot up. When he was given permission to speak, he said, “The Draught of Peace, page 289 in the book.”

“That’s right,” said the Professor, watching as everyone opened the intended page. “The Draught of Peace. Gives the taker an instant relief from anxiety. It’s also a necessity for anyone teaching this class—which reminds me, we might be running out of ingredients. I’m _kidding_ , Connor, so don’t give me that concerned expression.”

He held a vial for everyone to see and pulled the cork out, which caused a silver vapor to transpire before disappearing into the air. “See this?” He gave it a small shake. “That should be the result you’ll get. The draught might be to relieve stress, but let me tell you, it’ll wrack your brains as you make it. Any mistake, and the consequences could be severe; for example, if you really screw up, you might put the taker in an endless sleep.”

Some students gulped and shivered, staring at the seemingly innocuous liquid. Connor was growing more and more excited to begin brewing.

“But don’t worry,” said the Professor. “I won’t force you to try out your concoctions, as that’d probably earn me a stay in Azkaban. But those who actually manage to get it right will be given a vial of the draught for keeping. Everyone got it?”

The class murmured in confirmation, and Hank placed the vial back on the rack before clapping his hands once.

“Alright, everyone pair up! You have exactly one hour to finish brewing.”

Chloe volunteered to fetch the ingredients, while Connor set on gathering the equipment and preparing their worktable. He ignited a fire beneath the cauldron and tempered it to a gentle flame, tracing the instructions with an index and quickly committing them to memory.

Nines had already prepared his and Elijah’s workspace and was now watching his rival intently as he skimmed through the book. The Ravenclaw seemed to withdraw entirely from the physical world as he focused on the task at hand, with which he endowed his utmost attention—a characteristic that Nines couldn’t deny was _appealing_.

His observation was interrupted when his friend stepped into his line of vision with an arm draped around a flustered Chloe. The girl craned her neck to look in her partner’s direction, wishing to commence their assignment before too much time had elapsed.

Not noticing—or perhaps not minding—her unease, Kamski said, “Nines, look who I have here. Chloe just told me the most interesting tidbit about the wife of King Henry VIII.”

“Only that she was believed to be a witch by the muggles,” said Chloe, smiling briefly, “when it’s most likely that she was a squib—a nonmagical person born to a witch and a wizard.”

Elijah let out a humored breath and gestured with his free hand at her, as though to indicate how entertaining he thought she was. “Isn’t she delightful?”

To the unfamiliar observer, Elijah’s demeanor would seem pleasant, perhaps even friendly, but looking into his eyes, Nines saw the depraved pleasure that was a testament of all the wicked thoughts running through his head. If he had it in him, he would have taken pity on the poor Ravenclaw.

But instead, he said in a dull, disinterested voice, “Charming.”

“Say,” said Elijah suddenly. “How about I pair up with lovely Chloe over here; and you, with your… rival, was it?”

That warranted Nines’ interest. His gray eyes flickered at his friend’s face, noticing the message relayed by the manifested hubris, and he met him on equal grounds.

“Maybe I will.”

He gathered the necessary ingredients alongside his books and head silently to Connor’s table, setting them gracefully and without a word. Connor looked up from the text as his periphery vision caught the unwelcome profile of his rival. But the latter was entirely unperturbed, grinding moonstones to a powder with calm precision.

“It appears you’re at the wrong table,” said the Ravenclaw.

Without looking up from his work, Nines said, “Impossible. I have an impeccable sense of direction. And I never miscalibrate.” At the last part, he allowed his lips to settle in a small smirk. When his new partner maintained silence, his hand halted and he said, “It seems my partner has taken interest in yours. It’s only fair that I return the favor.”

Again, he was met by silence. Nines looked up to find Connor scanning his face with unabashed curiosity, as though trying to derive meaning from his words and failing. His eyes, brown and big, conveyed so much innocence that Nines was almost taken aback.

The suspicion and distrust were there, of course, but these emotions were not guarded nor disguised.

The Ravenclaw was so different from the Slytherin, who held his feelings a secret from even himself, repressing and destroying the smallest traces of weakness until what remained was a vessel, immune to the most forceful of probings.

Then why was it that the soft, barely grazing inspection that made him wish to reassess his defenses and turn away lest exposed?

But—a tingle of a peculiar eagerness ran down his spine—that innocence enticed a curiosity in him as well; a desire to test Connor’s limits and override them, watching _him_ break in his hold, having _that much influence_ over him.

But this influence would only be _his_ to have. The thought of any other person trespassing his property and ruining his possession made a bitter taste transpire in his mouth. He thinned his lips in revulsion, swallowing down the bile.

No. He wouldn’t allow a creature to so much as lay a finger on him.

“Just make sure you don’t ruin the potion.”

The voice broke through his reverie and retrieved him from his dark thoughts. Connor had attempted to offer him a tentative smile, but succeeded at only contorting his face in a grimace. It seemed that Nines wouldn’t have to try too hard to cause pain to his rival.

Scoffing, more at his last thought than at the instruction, he said, “The very thing I wished to say to you.”

Thus, they commenced their work. Connor pounded the unicorn horn and porcupine quills, and Nines prepared a hellebore syrup. At recurrent intervals, they would glance up in a discreet motion to look at the progress of the other, consequently speeding up their own labor to surpass each other.

Nines added the powdered moonstone to the cauldron and watched the potion turn green, while Connor stirred it into a radiant blue. A succession of colors manifested at each step, and if the two rivals took a moment to exit their competitive mentality, they would have noticed that their pace and mode of work perfectly complemented the other’s.

They allowed the concoction to simmer, waiting for the opportune moment to add seven drops of hellebore. Pleased, they noted how its color gradually became lighter, a sure indicative of the draught done correctly.

Connor took a small amount of the liquid into a spoon and raised it to his eye-level, looking at the silver vapor as it rose and died in the atmosphere. He dipped a finger into it, and, much to Nines’ horror, he licked it.

“You—!”

“Connor!” exclaimed Professor Anderson, hurrying to their table and yanking the spoon from the Ravenclaw’s hand. “Merlin’s beard, do you have a death wish? You can’t lick your potions!”

“Sorry Professor,” he said, more out of politeness than true remorse. “I was simply verifying its merit. I read that it should have an initial bitterness that turns into a cool, peppermint taste.”

“And what if you had done it incorrectly, huh? Goodness, son, you can’t let your hubris get a hold of you!”

Nines watched them with a raised eyebrow. Despite his anger, it was blatant that Professor Anderson’s reprimand stemmed from the fondness he felt for his student, a sentiment that seemed almost paternal. Connor, for his part, seemed agitated that he had upset him. He now looked rather sheepish, and the remorse was beginning to reflect in his brown eyes.

The Professor heaved a sigh and evened his temper, giving the potion a stir. “For what it’s worth,” he said, “it does seem you got it right.” He looked up, a proud smile playing on his lips. “Good job, you two.”

It was almost amusing how joyed Connor looked at that moment. Almost absurd.

Just how much did he value his Professor’s opinion?

“Thank you, Professor,” said Connor.

He raised a warning finger, and in a low voice that was nonetheless light and humorous, he said “If you put a blend in your mouth again, I’ll smack your head with the book.”

But the threat only managed to entice warm laughter from his student, which Professor Anderson returned with an affable smile of his own. Nines thought he was going to be sick.

As was promised, both the Ravenclaw and the Slytherin received a vial of the Draught of Peace before Professor Anderson rushed to Gavin’s table to identify the source of all that green smoke.

It wasn’t long before the assigned hour had elapsed. Students exited the classroom in groups, loudly chatting and mostly complaining about how some of their ingredients were definitely spoiled or tampered with.

Elijah rolled his eyes and craned his neck backwards. “Nines, if I stay another second in the company of those idiots, my head will surely explode. Nines?”

But his friend’s attention was, again, diverted and captured by the Ravenclaw. Elijah observed how his eyes narrowed ominously and how his lips thinned as he looked at the happily attentive Connor, giving Professor Anderson every shred of his attention while the old man babbled about the latest research paper he planned on publishing.

 _Fascinating_.

Clearing his throat, Elijah finally retrieved Nines from whatever reverie he was caught in. Of course, he earned a glare, but catching him off guard was always worth it.

“Shall we leave?” said Elijah, a smirk slowly developing on his face. “Or would you rather stay in this greatly interesting classroom?”

Sparing the pair one last glance, Nines said, “Let’s go.”

Elijah hummed silently, looking at Connor contemplatively before looping an arm around his friend’s neck and guiding him out. “Out we go.”

That night in the Ravenclaw common room, Connor was sat comfortably by one of the arched windows with a book in his hand and a faraway gaze, extending beyond the night-shrouded scenery of the Forbidden Forest and the mountains. Most of his housemates had gone to bed, leaving him with the gentle crackle of burning wood and the occasional flipping page of a book.

Abruptly, a soft voice broke the silence, “Good evening, Connor.”

He whipped his head to see Chloe. She stood a few feet away from him, still and unmoving, with an inscrutable look on her face.

“Chloe,” he said, a greeting and an indication of surprise, and straightened his sitting position. “Where were you the whole day? I didn’t see you after the Potions class.”

“Oh, yes.” She smiled a bit. “Sorry for randomly switching partners, by the way—Elijah told me you’d prefer to work with Nines.”

He frowned. “Elijah?”

“The other newcomer,” she explained, her expression becoming more and more shadowy. “He’s a captivating person, that Elijah.” Not noticing his growing disquiet, Chloe stepped closer to him to give him a small piece of paper. “It’s for you.”

Connor gave it an inspecting glance before returning his gaze to his friend. “Chloe, are you alright? You’re not really yourself.”

A laugh reverberated through her chest, but it sounded vacant enough to chill him. “What a silly thing to say. I’m very much okay, thank you.”

With one last smile, she bade him goodnight and headed to her dorm.

Connor flipped the paper and read the inscribed words.

_Meet me in the library tomorrow at 12._

_— EK_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspiration for the potion-licking scene:
>
>> [#DetroitBecomeHumanConnor](https://twitter.com/hashtag/DetroitBecomeHumanConnor?src=hash&ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw) [#detroitbecomehuman](https://twitter.com/hashtag/detroitbecomehuman?src=hash&ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw) [#DetroitBecomeHumanfanart](https://twitter.com/hashtag/DetroitBecomeHumanfanart?src=hash&ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw) [#rk800](https://twitter.com/hashtag/rk800?src=hash&ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw) [#rk900](https://twitter.com/hashtag/rk900?src=hash&ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw) [#dbh](https://twitter.com/hashtag/dbh?src=hash&ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw) [#harrypotter](https://twitter.com/hashtag/harrypotter?src=hash&ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw) [#hogwarts](https://twitter.com/hashtag/hogwarts?src=hash&ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw) [#animation](https://twitter.com/hashtag/animation?src=hash&ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw) [#gif](https://twitter.com/hashtag/gif?src=hash&ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw) [pic.twitter.com/P7q0aVGNgp](https://t.co/P7q0aVGNgp)
>> 
>> — Aneta Bielas (@pekaboo0) [August 25, 2018](https://twitter.com/pekaboo0/status/1033458859124449283?ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw)


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